Mark Gets The Flu
by Lexi Marie
Summary: Not only does Mark get the flu, but Roger has to take care of him.
1. Mark Gets the Flu

Disclaimer: Anything characters you recognize aren't mine. And Orangey is borrowed with permission from Parsley Pinwheel.

AN: Yay! My second fic is finally posted, it only sat in my binder for a month. Please excuse all spelling mistakes, I try to catch them all before I post, but sadly it doesn't always happen.

* * *

Mark curled into a tight ball on the couch wishing he could die, or at least until winter was over. Not many people knew about this deep loathing of the season he harbored. Sure, the snow was nice, as was the cooler weather, but screw the flu season, it ruined the entire season for the film maker. It was a given that no matter how hard he tried to avoid getting it, every blasted year Mark would catch the flu.

He muttered a string of curses to whatever greater power was laughing at him and enjoying his misery as he pulled the blankets tighter around his small frame.

Mark wasn't sure how much time had passed, but finally he heard the door opening.

"Rog?" His voice was raspy as he called out.

"Just a sec Mark," came the reply.

Mark pouted and retreated further into his cocoon of blankets while he waited. And waited. And waited.

"Roger!" He whined.

Laughing the musician walked around the couch to where Mark could see him, and coming over to the couch, Roger plopped down and pulled the smaller man into his arms.

"Okay, so where did I leave off?" He asked laughter evident in his voice.

Mark screwed up in face as he though for a moment.

"She was just about to go to the ball," a very enthusiastic muffled reply came.

Roger chuckled at his lover's excitement over the children's story. Mark had an odd habit of reverting to acting like a little kid when he was sick, especially when he had the flu. Over the years Roger had gotten used to taking care of the little Mark and also, much to his dismay, telling him children's stories. He now knew at least sixteen stories by heart.

Mark whined when the silence went on too long for his liking, and the sound pulled Roger back to reality.

"Okay, so, Cinderella sat in the kitchen tending to the fire when a single tear made its way do-"

He was interrupted by a raspy voice, "You already told me that part! She was in the carriage at the palace about to get out!"

Roger rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Cinderella looked out the window at the castle looming in front of her, butterflies in her stomach. Just then the door to the carriage opened and a hand was offered to help her out. She reached at and..."

* * *

Roger continued the story, smiling when he felt Mark snuggle closer to him and glaring at the orange cat that decided that it wanted to hear the story also. 

"Mark?" Roger questioned quietly.

Getting no response Roger smiled and closed his eyes knowing he needed to get whatever rest he could before the Jewish boy wake, demanding the rest of the story. Yawning the musician adjusted his position to get more comfortable, and ended up nearly getting clawed by the small cat that he almost squashed in the process.

* * *

"Roger? Roger, I'm bored. Roger! Wake up! You have to tell me what happens next!" The voice rasped through his dreams, waking the man up. 

Opening his eyes, Roger started. Staring at him were two pairs of eyes, one blue pair framed by glasses, and the other, green, framed by orange fluff. The innocence in both pairs was fake, and with a sigh Roger sat up.

'Here we go again.' He thought to himself before he launched into another chapter of Cinderella.


	2. And so does

A/N: Due to the reviews I decided to continue this story. This chapter is short, but I promise more will follow. Enjoy and R&R.

* * *

Roger sighed, relieved that he had finally gotten the film maker to sleep. He didn't mind taking care of him, but it was defiantly a challenge, one that he had faced many times. Taking one last look at his sleeping lover, he slipped from the room ready to take a break, only to find Collins sprawled on the couch.

"When did you get here?" He blurted out.

"Well, hello to you too," Collins voice rasped as he turned to face his friend.

Roger blushed, "Sorry. Hi Collins, now when did you get here?"

"Try about three minutes ago. You don't mind if I crash here tonight do you? I just don't feel like trudging back to my apartment."

Roger shook his head as he felt a headache coming on. Now he was going to have two sick people to look after. It never failed. First Mark would get sick, then Collins, then...

A soft rap on the door interrupted his thoughts, a soft albeit persistent knock. He stumbled over to the door, tripping over someone's shoes in the process. Before he even looked at the person on the other side of the door he already knew who it was. Maureen.

"Hi Mo. I'm taking it that you're sick to. Come in, make your self comfortable. Give me ten minutes and I'll have a bowl of soup ready."

Without waiting for a reply the musician turned and went to the kitchen, ready to make enough soup to feed an army, literally.

The figure standing in the door way looked confused and she looked at Collins for some sort of an explanation. Not getting one, she shuffled over to the beat up armchair dragging and assortment of blankets and pillows with her and kicking the door shut behind her. Plopping down she artfully arranged her blankets before pulling a small book out of one of the many folds.

Glancing up from the preparations Roger sighed. There was no way around it, before the week was up there would be a full house consisting of Mark, Collins, Maureen, Mimi, and most likely, Joann. So much for his nice little break before he had to tend to Mark.


	3. And it continues

A/N: Wow, I can't believe that I forgot about this story. Life and college work got in the way and one of my friends just reminded me about this story, so I decided to update. It's been almost a year since I updated last. Hopfully, during spring break I'll have a chance to finish this story. On another note, UnnamedElement pointed out it wouldn't be the greatest idea for Roger to be around a bunch of contagious sickly people. Well Roger isn't with Mark either, so the story is AU. And finally, I don not own any of the characters, I am just borrowing them for a bit of fun. Also, sorry for any spelling mistakes, I tried to get them all, but I'm not perfect so...

* * *

Roger awoke to something poking him.

Repeatedly.

Annoyingly.

He considered just ignoring whoever was poking him and going back to sleep, and rolled over, pulling his covers over his head. The sleep that he had been so rudely awoken from was just beginning to pull him back in when something began poking him again. Groaning he rolled back to the position he had been in when he first woke up and pulling the thin cover down, he opened one eye and nearly jumped out of his bed.

Four sets of eyes were staring at him expectantly.

'Why me,' the musician asked whatever greater powers were up in the heavens. He knew that they were probably enjoying his misery and laughing at him. 'Just you wait…'

The eyes had not left him even for a split second.

"Do you four need anything? Or do you just enjoy waking me up from a wonderful sleep, which, might I add, I really need?" Roger questioned sitting up looking from one person to another.

"Meow," was the only response.

Looking around he grabbed an old thread-bare jacket, he put it on and got up, leaving the room and heading for the kitchen.

* * *

Once the three sickly people and the cat had been fed, Roger plopped down on the floor in front of the couch. And as soon as his butt had hit the floor, the blasted phone rang and no one made any more to answer it.

Finally the answering machine picked up.

"Speak…" beep

Coughing was heard before the caller spoke up, "Maureen, I know your there. And I just want you to know that I'm quite angry with you right now. Roger, hope you don't mind, I'm going to be dropping by in a bit. See you soon."

Roger looked over at Maureen, who looked slightly sheepish.

"What did you do?"

The brunette looked up at him with a practiced look of innocence on her face.

"Who? ME? What would I have done to Joann? I swear I didn't do-"

Roger glared at her, "You got her sick didn't you?"

She nodded.

"I hate you right now. You owe me big time."

* * *

**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**

"Just a minute!" Roger called walking over to the door, depositing a box of Kleenex on the couch beside Mark.

Opening the door, he was presented with another sickly figure. Joann.

Ushering her in, he pointed towards one of the bundles of blankets on a chair. The disgruntled lawyer trudged over to the bundle, clutching her own blanket in her arms before shoving the bundle over and settling herself down in one half of the chair. The bundle beside her moved over to cuddle and Joann cuddled back.

"You know I'm still mad at you right?"

"Yep."

Silence fell in the loft and Roger made his way back to where Mark was bundled up and sat next to him pulling him into his lap. The six occupant of the loft sat quietly for sometime and Roger thought they had all drifted off to sleep and was about to get up when, "Roger? I'm bored."

"Me too," whined Maureen, poking her head out from her blankets.

"Roger," Mark said looking up at the musician. "Will you tell us a story? You finished Cinderella yesterday. I want a new one."

"Oh, how about the story with the girl and the talking teapot and clock and-"

"Beauty and the Beast? I wanna hear something with the giants and the magic cloak. It's the best, please Roger?"

"I want to hear Sleeping Beauty."

Roger dropped his head back onto the back of the couch and sighed. He couldn't wait until they all got over the flu, hopefully it would be soon. He didn't know what he would do if it wasn't.


	4. In Which It Comes To An End

AN: I'm sorry that this has taken so long to update. You probably don't care, but man, school has completely taken over my life and has finally returned it for winter break. ANd this is going to be the last chapter for Mark Gets The Flu. Hope you enjoy it and sorry for any spelling mistakes.

Disclaimer: I still don't own the characters I just borrow them on occasion, but then return them unharmed. Orangey is borrowed with permission from Parsley Pinwheel.

* * *

Roger's eyes fluttered open and he squinted at the bright light filtering in through the dirty windows. He made a mental note to clean them at some point before groaning and trying to stretch. His attempts were ruined by an arm slung across his chest which was pinning him to his bed. Sure he could move the offending appendage, but then he risked waking the owner of the arm and in all truthfulness, the musician didn't want to get out of bed yet. Tending to the four sickly occupants of his house and Orangey, who he swore was out to get him, he was beat. Roger knew the worst was yet to come though, since his ex-girlfriend and close friend had yet to come in sick.

After a couple more minutes of lying in the warmth of the bed, Roger sighed and got up, gently moving Mark's arm so not to disturb him, though still receiving a glare from Orangey who way curled up on the other side of Mark. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember how he had come to be in his bed as Roger knew e hadn't been there when he went to sleep. Shrugging it off he left the room, making sure the small film maker was tucked securely beneath the covers and that the Kleenex box was close at hand.

Walking into the living room he surveyed the lumps of blankets strewn about on his furniture. There were two lumps snuggling close together on one of the oversized armchairs, who he assumed were Joann and Maureen. Another lump had taken up residence on the couch next to the chair and it seemed to be a Collins sized lump. And another lump had sprung up on the remaining chair and it could only be one person. Mimi.

Roger shook his head and began clearing the mess that has accumulated since yesterday. The mess consisted of empty bowls of soup, mugs of tea all in different amounts of having been drunk, and empty Kleenex boxes stuffed full of used Kleenex. Within fifteen minutes the mess had been reduced to dishes soaking in the sink and new boxes of tissues had been strategically placed on the coffee table in the middle of the couch and chairs.

With that taken care of and all of the others still sleeping, Roger trudged back to his room to rejoin Mark and Orangey. Curling one arm around his love he closed his eyes, hoping for at least another hour of sleep before he was awoken to play nurse to the group invading the loft.

* * *

"Roger, she's hogging the tissues and I need them."

"No I'm not. Roger, he's just being mean."

"I wanna hear a story Roger, can you tell us The Little Mermaid? The real one, not the Disney one, please?"

There was no letting up with this group and Roger was ready to scream, or quit, or possibly even both. At least he was until he glanced at Mark, who was looking up at him with large puppy eyes. He knew he shouldn't have looked at the smaller man as he couldn't resist puppy eyes from Mark no matter how hard he tried.

"Ok, Mimi, put the box on the couch between you and Collins. Collins she is not being mean, and look she's already put them in the middle. And if all of you can be quiet for more then ten minutes I will begin the story, if not you can have fun entertaining yourselves.

The immediate quiet that followed his works were amazing, and the musician took a moment to savor the silence before walking over to Mark's chair and shifting him so he could sit next to him, which, after a moment of shifting, ended with Mark curled up in his lap.

"Once upon a time there was a young mermaid, whose name was…"

* * *

What has seemed like forever was finally over, sure it had only been a week, but with the five of them being sick together and invading the loft to listen to fairy tale, have home made soup (which was really good), and use every tissue box that had been inside the loft, plus more, it had seemed like an eternity.

And Roger was glad that it was over.

Sure he loved his friends and all, but it was too much and he swore that it was never going to happen again. It was something he swore to himself every winter, and he broke it every winter, but it made him feel better at the moment.

"Roger, you are amazing," Mark's voice came softly from behind him. "I don't know how you do this every year, but you do. Honestly, I'm amazed you put up with all of us without killing someone, I know none of us could do it."

Turning to face his love, Roger smiled.

"It's not that hard."

Mark snorted, "Sure it isn't."

The musician walked over and wrapped his arms around the filmmaker and was leaning into plant a small kiss on his nose when- "ACHOO"

He pulled away in shock. He couldn't be, it simply wasn't possible that he could be. It had never happened in all the times he had taken care of them before. In fact, thinking about it he could never remember ever getting- "ACHOO!"

A worried look crossed over Mark's face and he raised a hand to Roger's forehead. Which was warm to the touch.

"Roger, you're sick. I'm so sorry love. Let's get you in bed and I'll take care of you, I promise."

Roger was still shocked as the smaller man led him towards their room.

It seemed that fate had played a major joke on him and he, Roger, for the first time he could ever remember, had the flu.


End file.
